


Promises Kept

by Jess_S



Series: Felicitas [12]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Highlander - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Humor, International Travel, Sarcasm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 11:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_S/pseuds/Jess_S
Summary: Travel may be faster now, but it brings with it plenty of complications all its own…





	Promises Kept

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: And, at long last, we’re back to Methos… I’m sure the wait was a lot longer than most of you were expecting, so: sorry. I promise that a lot of scheming—I mean, thinking—a lot of thinking does go into this. I’m not doing this just to torment you… Is it an added bonus? Eh, yeah, kinda sorta… Sorry.  
> But, anyway, Methos!

  _Methos' P.O.V_.

 

Methos was _not_ going to say anything. That was his main focus for the moment—for the last many moments, really. Almost all of his attention was on keeping his teeth locked into his tongue. If he didn’t keep his tongue stuck there, he knew he’d say something. And _that_ would only turn his traveling companion’s over-the-top arguments on himself.

 

MacLeod and Angelina distracting a museum director whose job consciousness hit right when they were robbing his museum had been an amusing byplay to listen to as they’d made their escape. But this wasn’t that. This distraction wasn’t helping them: if anything it was hurting their plans to fly out under the radar along with the thousands of other people who were doing so today. Apparently Amanda wasn’t as onboard with that plan as he’d thought though, and Methos could for the life of him care about why. But it wouldn’t be too much longer before the thief’s over-the-top complaints made Methos start evaluating his life choices. Specifically how they’d led to him having her as a friend.

 

But wait, he was already doing that, wasn’t he?

 

Amanda had been arguing with the unlucky airport official for far too long now. She wouldn’t have tried this in the United States, because it’d all but guarantee more attention than she could ever want from any federal officer, even if they were only a T.S.A officer. That she was arguing with the French equivalent here and now surprised him, too, but then maybe it shouldn’t have. She _had_ argued with the ones in at _Pierco International_ , too, even though they’d _just_ stolen the painting right there in Spain.

 

Granted, there hadn’t been anything about _El Prado_ realizing one of their Goya’s had been stolen. So Amanda’s plan to switch it out with a forgery had worked. So far, anyway—and they were very nearly to the point where it was far enough. 

 

Someday someone would take a closer look at the replica that was on the wall in Madrid now, and they’d notice something. The paint wasn’t old enough. Or where the microchip Amanda had had to take out had been embedded.

 

As long as they weren’t caught transporting it now, it wouldn’t matter. After all, it wasn’t like Felicitas was going to sell the piece. Or keep it. Honestly he doubted she’d even look at it.

 

Given all of that, Methos really would’ve thought the world’s greatest—or at least oldest—thief would put more stock in _not_ being memorable. But apparently not…

 

“No, no, no,” Amanda insisted again. “You have _experts_ here for this, don’t you? And that’s why the dogs are here, too, isn’t it? Checking for—oh, I don’t know, chemicals or whatever the hell you think I might’ve hidden in my friend’s portrait?”

 

“No, Miss, as I ‘ave told you alreadee, ze dogs are look-ing for drugs,” the frowning Frenchman told her for what had to be the third or fourth—or maybe the fifth?—time.

 

The Frenchman’s accent had gotten heavier and heavier in proportion to how much she’d managed to irritate him. He could’ve passed for an English schoolboy when they’d first arrived, but now he was only still speaking to them at all because his job meant he had no choice, so now he sounded like Maurice Chevalier.

 

“An’ ze museums make appointments for zuch zings. If you would like to check—”

 

“I _can’t_ check it!” Amanda cried dramatically. “There’s no air down there! And the pressure would destroy it! Oh my god, that’s it, _isn’t?_ You _want_ to destroy my painting!”

 

“Oh god…” Methos rolled his eyes, fighting the urge to drop his head into his hands.

 

Both ignored him. Though the other man would undoubtedly appreciate any interruption at this point, he’d seemed to accept that no help was coming from the other man’s quarter after none of his earlier pleading looks had garnered any support.

 

“No, Miss. No,” the poor security officer tried to insist, but the thief wasn’t having any of it. “Eet ees my job to—”

 

“You can _see_ that it’s just a painting. You _looked at it_ already, and there’s nothing else in the case,” Amanda threw one hand out in a gesture that really was too dramatic no matter how you tried to look at it. “I couldn’t put anything in the carrying case with it—it’d _ruin_ it!”

 

“Ze x-ray won’t harm ze painting, madam. Truly,” the poor man tried to tell her for…

 

Well, actually Methos hadn’t been counting that one’s numerous repetitions. Deliberately. To try and make this a little less annoying. So far it wasn’t working.

 

“You don’t _know_ that!” the thief insisted vehemently yet again.

 

The sound of an announcement starting on the airports’ speakers again was a welcome distraction for the Immortal that wanted nothing to do with whatever the hell Amanda thought she was doing here. And when he realized what the French words were going on about, he seized the opportunity they provided immediately. Not bothering to wait for the boarding call’s numerous translations after the initial French announcement.

 

“That’s us,” Methos pointed out. “ _Amy_ , just let the man run it through so we can go already. We don’t want to miss our flight, and the X-ray won’t hurt it anyway.”

 

Amanda shot him a disgusted look that was all an act—one that successfully got the security officer’s sympathy aimed at him for having to travel with this madwoman—but it wouldn’t have bothered Methos even if it was real. “You can’t _know_ that, Michael. And who _knows_ when we’ll be able to go back to Spain for—”

 

“Actually I _do_ know that,” Methos interrupted her with a sigh that wasn’t even a little fake. “Like he said, how do you think the museums scan them?”

 

“With special equipment that won’t hurt it!” Amanda insisted. “Why they wouldn’t have it here—”

 

“You can’t expect them to carry ‘special’ equipment at every airport. Especially since—”

 

“This isn’t ‘every airport,’” the thief tried to interject; arguing for argument’s sake alone as far as he could tell. “It’s an _international_ airport.”

 

“—the equipment isn’t even necessary.” Methos finished firmly right over the top of her protest, reaching out to grab the case she’d been holding protectively away from the poor security officer. “Here,” he handed it to the man.

 

It took poor Pascal a whole moment to accept it—he had to get over his instinctive effort to flinch away from the object of so much argument like it really was a bomb or some sort of biohazard. “Merci, monsieur,” the young man said quickly then. And he placed the tube into a security bin and set it on the conveyer belt with every bit of care anyone could ask for.

 

Poor kid was probably just out of college when he got this job. Or maybe he hadn’t even graduated yet. Sometimes it was hard to tell these days. Exactly why Amanda had insisted on tormenting him the older ancient couldn’t imagine…

 

Methos grabbed Amanda’s arm before she could decide if she should hound the boy some more, jerking her towards the full-body scan for them to walk through. “Ladies first,” he told her as he gave her a gentle but equally firm shove towards the device.

 

“Well, thank you, kind sir,” Amanda replied with her wicked smile. She snatched up the prized carry-on as soon as she reached the other side of the security checkpoint. Then she seemed ridiculously pleased with herself as she led the way to their gate. She wasn’t quite strutting, but it was a very close thing.

 

“What was the point of all of that?” Methos had to ask her as they walked down the boarding ramp to their plane a few minutes later. “If you’d just let him run it through the x-ray to begin with, we would’ve been in our seats ten minutes ago and that kid would’ve already forgotten about us. Now he’s gonna remember your face forever.”

 

“Oh he’d remember my face anyway,” the thief declared breezily, “I’m not very forgettable.”

 

“You can blend in if you want to, just like everyone else,” he pointed out dryly.

 

“Maybe,” Amanda shrugged. “But where’s the fun in that?”

 

Methos blinked at her, “Fun?” he shook his head, but didn’t say anymore just yet since they’d reached the plane and had to exchange polite greetings with the flight crew while cramming themselves into the plane along with all the other passengers. Once they were found their seats, however, he let loose the retort he’d been biting back, though he deliberately spoke in Latin since it was very unlikely even a scholar who could translate the dead language would be able to comprehend it when it was spoken. “ _Now he is going to remember you—and not very fondly. He’ll also remember that you had a painting with you. And that we were boarding a connecting flight here, after flying in from Spain—since you even told him that._ ”

 

“ _Probably,_ ” Amanda shrugged, also answering in Latin, though it didn’t flow from her tongue as easily as it did his. Rebecca had taught her many things, but familiarity with any language came far more from usage than study, and the Romans’ empire fell a thousand years before the thief was born. “ _But he didn’t actually_ **_look_** _at the painting. He didn’t want to even touch it with me breathing down his neck. If I’d been easy-going like you, he might’ve decided to take a closer look._ ”

 

“Or he might’ve just let us go on our way,” Methos interjected dryly, not bothering with English because nothing about his comment mattered. “In fact, that was far more likely.”

 

Amanda shrugged again, but otherwise ignored his opinion. “ _But I was a bitch, so he wanted me gone as soon as possible. So he never saw the painting itself. All he knows is that I said it was a portrait of a friend, and why would he ever assume a Goya might be the same painting?_ ”

 

Methos sighed, and finally nodded. “ _He wouldn’t,_ ” he admitted, before shaking his head. “ _Lot of work for a painting she’s gonna still hate anyway._ ”

 

Amanda’s satisfied smile finally away into a frown. “ _She isn’t going to hate it. It’s a Goya,_ ” she protested, sounding so sincerely offended at the idea that he almost felt bad for bursting her bubble

 

Almost.

 

“ _Yeah, the second one he painted of her—mourning her after her murder. She’s had the first one for ages,_ **_that’s_** _the one she likes._ ” Methos shook his head. “ _She’ll probably burn this one,_ ” he speculate, just to see what the words would cause.

 

Amanda stilled, honest horror overtaking her features to form an expression he didn’t think he’d ever seen there before. “ _She_ **_wouldn’t_** …”

 

The older ancient shrugged, “ _You’d have to admit, it’d be pretty cathartic for her._ ”

 

“ _But—But it’s a_ **_Goya_** _!_ ”

 

“ _And she already has one, so why should she care?_ ”

 

“Madam and Monsieur,” a flight attendant was standing over them suddenly, her stern-looking face forced into a smile: probably because they _were_ in first class. And ‘Giselle’ obviously couldn’t understand them, though their Latin words undoubtedly sounded similar to all the modern languages that’d been born from it. “Fasten your seatbelts, please. The plane is preparing to depart.”

 

Both Immortals immediately obeyed, Methos giving her a smile while Amanda only offered her a polite nod: then they watched her wander away. Once she was a few rows back, and obviously paying no attention to them—because some depraved person had actually thought it was a good idea to buy a child a first class ticket. Said depraved person was probably the woman who was now arguing with the Giselle about why her precious baby couldn’t surf the web on his tablet while the plane was taking off. Assuming the airline employee would win, however, the Immortals tuned the exchange of high-strung maternal superiority versus professional politeness out, still speaking in Latin because no one spoke it anymore.

 

“ _Why do you care anyway?_ ” Methos wondered, raising an eyebrow at her as he returned to their original discussion about the portrait that’d brought them to Spain a few days ago, “ _Didn’t think you were any kind of art enthusiast. Don’t you usually steal jewels?_ ”

 

“ _I like art,_ ” Amanda replied stiffly. “ _And it’s a Goya. It’s worth—well, I didn’t look up the exact amount, but I’m sure it’s at least a couple million._ ”

 

The older ancient rolled his eyes. “ _It’s not like she’d sell it. The whole point of stealing it was to get it out of public viewing._ ”

 

“ _I know, but—_ ”

 

“ _But nothing, Amy,_ ” Methos cut in firmly, using her ‘fake’ name even though they were speaking Latin again without even needing to think about it. “ _You know I’m right._ ” He shook his head. “ _And that painting, even as dangerous as it is, is worth next to nothing to her. Even less than that—since it’ll only bring back bad memories._ ”

 

The thief didn’t deny it as she sighed. “ _Now I don’t want to give it to her,_ ” she protested with what wasn’t quite a pout.

 

Again Methos rolled his eyes, but before he could respond he felt his phone vibrating on his hip and reached for it automatically.

 

“The flight attendants won’t like that,” Amanda pointed out.

 

“It’s Joe, might be important,” he said after a glance at the screen, immediate hitting the ‘answer’ button. “Talk fast, Joe. Our plane’s gonna be taking off soon.”

 

“ _Can do,_ ” was the Watcher’s response, and he went on quickly. “ _Just wanted to give you a head’s up. Mac, Richie and I are on the next plane to the states after you._ ”

 

Methos sighed, almost not caring enough to ask the requisite, “Why?”

 

“ _Because they want to meet your friend. And come to think of it, I do, too,_ ” Joe said, before asking, “ _Don’t suppose you could make it easy for us and tell me where you’re going after you’re stateside again?_ ”

 

“Nope,” Methos answered without giving it a second’s thought, making the Watcher immediately sigh and not feeling at all bad about that either.

 

“ _Yeah, I didn’t think so._ ”

 

“She’s gonna tell you to hang up in about fifteen seconds,” Amanda wanted him, and the other Immortal didn’t even glance in the direction the sternly polite Giselle had gone to confirm her timing.

 

“Gotta go, Joe,” Methos told the Watcher. “Have fun in Boston.” He hung up the phone with a sigh, tucking it away back in his pocket as he looked at the woman sitting next to him. “Looks like we’re gonna be dodging Watchers when we land.”

 

“Joe’s having us followed?” Amanda arched an eyebrow, only a little bit of surprise in her voice.

 

“He will,” Methos nodded. “They want to know where we’re going.”

 

Amanda sighed. “I told you Duncan wouldn’t drop it,” the thief reminded him. “You wounded his pride.”

 

“ _I_ wounded it?” he raised an eyebrow back at her. “ _She’s_ the one that doesn’t want to meet him.”

 

“And you’re the one that told him that,” Amanda rolled her eyes. “Three times, at least, to my count.”

 

Methos shrugged, “Joe brought it up a few times, too,” he chuckled, then added, “Come to think of it, didn’t you needle him about it once or twice?”

 

“I couldn’t stay completely out of the fun,” Amanda shrugged. “Well, evading Watchers should make the rest of our trip a little more exciting,” the thief chuckled, and then shook her head. “And I guess that means you were right about not booking the flight out of Boston,” she admitted, before grimacing. “ _Please_ tell me we won’t have to drive the rest of the way. I hate road trips.”

 

“We won’t have to drive the whole way,” Methos assured her. “Just to one of the other airports. In New Hampshire, or maybe Rhode Island. Or New York.”

 

“Bit of a difference there,” Amanda pointed out glumly, apparently not really willing to argue with him on this.

 

Methos shrugged. “Can’t be too careful,” he opined, before glancing down the aisle as the stern flight attendant before started talking over the plane’s speakers while her co-workers throughout the plane performed the physical performance that went with the standard safety speech. “Now pay attention. You might need this someday.”

 

“Seriously?” Amanda rolled her eyes, continuing in Latin again, “ _With all your research into the safest airlines you still worry about plane crashes?_ ”

 

“ _The closest anyone came to flying when I was born was falling: the hard landing was something you were supposed to expect. And it’s not like it couldn’t still happen,_ ” the world’s oldest Immortal answered dryly, before he smirked at her, “ _Though you’re no spring chicken either._ ”

 

“No,” Amanda shrugged, “ _But I choose to believe that a fiery plane crash won’t necessarily remove my head from my body, so I’ll survive_.”

 

“ _There’s a morbid thought,_ ” Methos grimaced. “ _Would you actually **want** to live like that? It’s not like your limbs would grow back, even if your head and shoulders stayed intact somehow._ ”

 

“ _Thank you, Mister glass-is-three-quarters-empty,_ ” she replied, not quite able to keep her face from twisting at the gruesome image either.

 

“You’re welcome,” he smirked back, before leaning back in his seat and turning his eyes to the pretty French woman who was currently demonstrating how one would put on a life vest if it was needed. He couldn’t see her name tag from here—Giselle was the one talking them through the whole thing by speaking to the whole plane through a phone in the background: each exacting word as clear and concise as everything else about the woman.

 

Not much was different about this demonstration from any of the hundreds of others he’d seen before, and there probably wouldn’t be since most flight attendants became old-hat about this sort of thing pretty quickly. He had seen some pretty entertaining ones everyone once and a while, though—usually because the demonstrator had a sense of humor that just shone through. One had actually been clumsy enough to set the life vest off once: proving that the vests they used for the demonstrations would actually work in a real crisis.

 

Methos would probably always prefer flying though—over boats by a very long shot. He’d known at the time that the crossing to Iceland in that rickety rowboat with as many other men as it could hold wouldn’t be pleasant, but he’d vastly underestimated just how cramped the little boat would be. How he’d made it all the way there without deciding that jumping overboard to drown and wake up once he washed up on some shore was still something of a mystery to him…

 

“ _Finally_ , she’s done,” Amanda sighed, bring his mind back to the present just in time to see that the flight attendants had, indeed, finished their demonstration. “Can we take off already?” the thief groused, just barely under her breath.

 

Methos raised an eyebrow at her. “How is it that you still haven’t learned the value of patience at your age?”

 

“I can be patient when I have to be,” Amanda shrugged. “Now I don’t have to be. I’ve got you here to complain to.”

 

“That you do,” the older ancient rolled his eyes, and then he raised an eyebrow at her. “You know, your seat’s the same size as mine and you’re smaller than me so you have to have more space over there.”

 

“Oh, I do,” Amanda agreed, shaking her head even as she did so. “But we should share body heat. It’s freezing in here.”

 

Methos snorted, “Alright.”

 

“Why?” she smirked at him. “Are you feeling crowded, oh so ancient one?”

 

He rolled his eyes, “I have no objections to sharing the space, Amanda, and I’m sure you’ll soon be stealing my shoulder regardless.”

 

“That’s more than likely,” the thief agreed, before offering. “But if I’m asleep you won’t have to talk to me the whole time we’re flying over the Atlantic.”

 

“True,” Methos acknowledged, knowing better than to try protesting.

 

She’d have a retort for whatever he said anyway, and at this point in time he didn’t particularly care to get into any kind of argument. Not when he _was_ going to be stuck on this plane with her for at least the duration of the flight that still hadn’t left the ground yet. At least they were starting to roll along the tarmac now, though whether they’d be airborne in five minutes or an hour was in the hands of someone sitting in a tower directing all the air-traffic at one of the busiest airports in the world.

 

“But when we get our blankets I’m putting my seat back and going to sleep,” Methos told her.

 

“Sounds like a plan,” Amanda agreed brightly, surprising him a little. But not as much what she said next surprised him. “ _So do you think this’ll earn me real entry into the Circle yet?_ ” she asked, sounding so off-hand about it that it took him half a second longer than it normally would to translate the Latin words.

 

“ _What?_ ” Methos responded, studying her profile.

 

“ _Taking care of the painting,_ ” the thief qualified with a shrug. “ _Of course I would have done it anyway, but this is pretty important for the Circle, isn’t it? I mean, Felicitas was the founder, right?_ ”

 

Methos looked away for a very long moment, before he did turn his head as he responded, though her eyes were turned towards their little window in feigned disinterest. “ _She is, though she’d argue that she was only one of the founders and no more important than all the others._ ”

 

“ _But she is more important,_ ” Amanda insisted, meeting his eyes even as she shrugged and switched back to English again. “I mean, Rebecca always said she was.”

 

“Rebecca was only rarely wrong,” Methos agreed, sharing a sad smile with his old friend’s student.

 

“And was she about this?”

 

“No,” the world’s oldest Immortal admitted immediately, before he switched back to Latin again. “ _The Council doesn’t meet all that often. For both World Wars we only met—all together, all at once—three times, and the third one was on V.E Day._ ”

 

“I know, Rebecca met up with me after that one, and Felicity was there, too,” Amanda sighed again. “They said something like that, too. And Rebecca never wanted me to get my hopes up.” She shook her head and switched back to Latin herself then. “ _But she’s gone now, so I don’t hear about anything important unless you need something from me. And I’m an ancient myself now. I mean, I’m older than Felicitas was when she started the Council, right?_ ”

 

 “ _Not exactly,_ ” Methos grimaced, trying to explain while carefully walking along the line of all the rules that he’d sincerely agree to follow, made all the more difficult by the fact that he definitely did not want to get in the middle of this. Especially when he was starting to think that the thief had waited till he was stuck on a plane with her for a very long flight to ask about this—so he couldn’t escape. “ _The Circle has been different parts, all working together, but not always on the same things at the same time. The right pinky usually doesn’t know what the right thumb is doing, and it doesn’t have a clue where the entire left hand has gone._ ”

 

Amanda grimaced, “There’s a pleasant image, thanks,” she snorted.

 

Both Immortals paused, then breathed a sigh of relief as they felt the plane started to gain speed in what could only be take-off. They were climbing up into the air only moments later, leaving Europe fast behind them.

 

Methos knew why Amanda was asking, of course. Now that Rebecca wasn’t around to nominate her—again and again—she needed another sponsor: someone who’d nominate her on her own merits or at least in her teacher’s memory. That sponsor needed to be someone of equal standing to Rebecca in the Circle though, and _he_ certainly didn’t fit that role.

 

Yes, he might be the oldest Immortal living, assuming there were no more elders trapped in sarcophagi or tombs from times before even he’d walked the world. But he wasn’t anywhere near the most respected or influential—and he didn’t want to be, he was quite content with both of those positions belonging to his little sister.

 

Except that put him in an uncomfortable position with people like Amanda, who thought his status as the oldest known Immortal might mean something to the other ancients. It did mean something, but it just didn’t have the same significance—the same impact—that it had on most younger Immortals.

 

But Methos didn’t want to ask if Amanda realized that Felicitas was the one she needed to convince if she really wanted to join the Circle. He did _not_ want to be in the middle of that _at all_ …

 

Felicitas had never voted for Amanda’s joining when Rebecca had brought it up though. She’d never even considered it. That was a simple truth that said something to the others. She hadn’t voted against the thief any of the five times Rebecca had nominated Amanda, but she hadn’t voted or spoken a word for her either. Instead she’d abstained, each and every time.

 

Amanda was their friend, of course, but Felicitas had many friends. She only nominated or voted for them if she thought they could contribute to the Circle _and_ they could be trusted with the responsibilities. She voted as the sovereign she’d been more than once—and the leader she’d probably always be. She was loyal to her friends, but friendship wasn’t what would govern the world of Immortals—and it certainly wasn’t what might one day manage to end The Game. Not on its own.

 

Methos was pretty sure the ancient queen counted the thief’s career choices against her. Maybe subconsciously, but the bias was still there. Amanda _chose_ to steal, even when she really didn’t need to, and a part of Felicitas couldn’t completely accept that. Even though there’d been plenty of times when the thief had been very useful, and there would undoubtedly be just as many more in the future.

 

The two ladies were from two entirely different sides of society—the very top and the very bottom, one could say. Rebecca had done her best to educate Amanda and help her student rise to a higher place in life, but the thief had continued to steal. At times because it was all she knew, but in more modern times it was really just because she wanted to. For fun—or, at best, just to prove that she could. To herself, if no one else.

 

Needing to continue prove yourself wasn’t something Felicitas could hold against anyone, and Methos doubted she even held their friends career against her consciously. When she thought about it she probably chose to be bemused or resignedly accepting of it, being there with her friend all the while. But when it came to matters like who belonged in the Circle, his sister felt it had to mean more than just _wanting_ to stop the Game and having the right friends. It wasn’t about who you knew or had known, but about what you did.

 

A balance that Methos had to struggle with within himself from time to time, but it came to Felicitas naturally. And that was why he didn’t think she’d even think of nominating Amanda herself now that Rebecca wasn’t around to do so. Not unless their friend asked her to, and even then it’d be a struggle for her to seriously consider it…

 

“It’s just,” Amanda started again then, her soft words barely audible over the roars of the plane’s many surrounding sounds. “With Rebecca gone now, I feel like I _should_ be more involved with that stuff… for her, you know?” she sighed. “And I’ve wanted to help for a long time.”

 

Methos nodded, well able to understand that, though his understanding didn’t change anything. “Rebecca always believed in you,” he told her kindly.

 

And the thief smiled, “I know,” she shook her head slowly. “I’ve never understood how she could do it, but she always did.”

 

“Caring about people isn’t always easy, but it’s still better than the alternative,” Methos told her sagely, even as he kept turning the problem over in his head.

 

The problem for him wasn’t that he thought his sister was wrong or misjudging their friend. And he certainly didn’t believe in granting honors or positions based on anything other than an individual’s own merit.

 

With Rebecca gone, Methos had lost the second voice that’d speak for Duncan MacLeod—because no one else was willing to challenge Felicitas for someone who’d worked with and considered Cassandra a friend. Amanda could be that new voice, even if she wouldn’t carry the weight that Rebecca had had for a long time. And against Felicitas, both of them still wouldn’t win.

 

But, beyond all of that, Amanda did have her own merits to be judged on. She’d proven her value to the League any number of times. And Methos wasn’t sure his sister would’ve considered what her silence on the matter meant to others. Rebecca had never had the heart to challenge her on it, or even mention it, but now Methos had to wonder if _he_ should.

 

He could always nominate Amanda himself, but that wouldn’t accomplish anything. Everyone would assume he was only doing so in Rebecca’s memory, and if Felicitas didn’t second the nomination no one would, so it’d never even come to a vote. The ancient queen that’d had come to be his baby sister had to be the one to speak in the ancient thief’s favor. If she could…

 

If _he_ could make her see the bias she didn’t even consciously recognize that she had against their longtime friend.

 

And if she didn’t refuse under the assumption that he was trying to retread old grounds with different dance steps, as a means to make her meet Duncan MacLeod despite her objections, whether that’d mean welcoming him into the League of Shadows or not. That her one major objection to the younger Highlander was his defense of Cassandra wasn’t something Methos could argue about with her, because he couldn’t even deny that she had every right to take the head of the Immortal who’d murdered almost all of her first family. Methos knew better than to bring _that_ up, of course, as that was an argument they’d agreed to disagree on ages ago…

 

Felicitas thought Cassandra was a monster.

 

Methos did, too. He’d had a rather large hand in helping Cassandra become that monster, though, so she was _his_ responsibility. If anyone should take her head and risk her Dark Quickening it should be him, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Every time he’d tried he just remembered the gentle woman who’d tried to forgive him and find her own place among the Horsemen with him until Kronos had ruined that…

 

But Cassandra’s Quickening was undoubtedly Dark. The Circe’s list of her crimes throughout the ages was far too long for there to be much chance of that innocent girl he remembered being hidden somewhere inside the hateful woman she’d too quickly become. That hatred had consumed her, and polluted everything she did thereafter: including murdering Felicitas’ first family and thereby ending her happy, peaceful existence in Carthage out of simple spite.

 

Methos might not be able to make himself take Cassandra’s head, but he couldn’t let Felicitas do it either. He could risk his sister being destroyed by that same darkness. The two ladies were of nearly the age and of equally strong convictions, but if Felicitas took Cassandra’s head out of vengeance—her head full of the remembered rage she’d felt at the murderess—she, too, could go Dark all to easily. And _that_ , above all else, was something Methos _never_ wanted to see…

 

“That’s true,” Amanda agreed softly.

 

And Methos blinked at her, needing a solid second to remember she couldn’t read his mind and was agreeing with what he’d said a minute ago—not everything that he’d been thinking since then. Or maybe more than a minute, since they were starting to move along the tarmac again, but there wasn’t any announcement about their escaping into the air just yet, so he wouldn’t get his hopes up early.

 

It wasn’t that Felicitas didn’t care, of course. No. The real problem as she cared too much. For all that she wanted to make her own choices and not be shielded from the world herself, she’d like to keep everyone she cared about surrounded by a magical shield that’d keep any harm from coming to them. It was an impulse her big brother could more than understand, but he’d had her pushing his over-protective boundaries for so long that he couldn’t not know that they were there and that they had to be at least a little flexible. Felicitas, for the most part, hadn’t had to learn that uncomfortable sort of adaptability—and maybe he’d failed her so far in that regard…

 

They were old, but they weren’t dogs. They could all learn new tricks, if they were willing to take the time and spend the effort to try.

 

Was he?

 

…Yes.

 

But, more importantly, would she be?

 

Unfortunately, only time—and trying—could tell…

 

“Bonjour, mesdames et messieurs,” the captain’s voice came over the speakers, continuing in French to welcome them aboard the _Air_ _France_ flight from Paris to Boston.

 

Methos listened with barely half an ear as the man went on to basically say that they should be arriving on time in Boston, with no expected problems along the route. Instead he kept thinking, wondering and planning, even as Amanda finally laid her head down on his shoulder to doze off. He had a lot to think about, and it was better to try and think it through before going to sleep—if only to avoid whatever his subconscious could come up with to plague his sleeping hours if he didn’t put his thoughts to rest first…

* * *

NEXT:

Rogue Warning

_ Felicity’s P.O.V. _

_With everything else going on, this is the last thing she needed…_

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Okay, so Methos and Amanda are on their way! And maybe some of the others, too—though odds are Methos especially will be able to give them the slip since they’re not even on the same plane… even if he’s stuck in his head a bit at the moment. It’s a long flight.  
> But we’ll see how that turns out…  
> Once again I apologize for the wait. Real life has recently been driving my fan fiction muses into hibernation… Well, that and a particularly complicated puzzle. And Dragon Age. But mostly real life. It’s stressful. And while wine can sometimes help me with writer’s block, it doesn’t particularly lend itself to editing and revision. Puzzle and video games on the other hand are fine with a few glasses of wine… But anyway: sorry. Really.  
> The next scene is almost entirely written, and it’s one of those ones that I’ve had just sitting around for a long time waiting to be placed in the series. At the moment my only real struggle is if it SHOULD be a stand-alone interlude or if it should be the start of the next story, since it does tie into it more than a little. But figuring that out shouldn’t take TOO long. I hope.  
> As always, thank you all for reading. Comments, constructive criticism, observations obvious and not, crazy ideas, wild dreams, enthusiastic or confused questions et al. And art work, too. The wonderful fallingmeleth was kind enough to send me two pieces of artwork already, which everyone can see in the Felicitas Artwork ‘story’ I’ve created. It’ll stay the last piece in the series even as it progresses. I may post some of my own manips there, but I’d love to see more artwork if anyone else is so inclined. And, again, to fallingmeleth: thank you! :-D  
> More to come soon everyone! Thanks for reading! :-)  
> …And to finish on a much more serious note, I’d like to say a few words supporting the students and other activists who are trying to make our political leaders remember that, at the very least, their job is to protect us. I go back and forth on the second amendment. I have some family members who’ve actually said the only way they’ll give up their guns is if they’re pried from their cold, dead hands. Others would, I think, love to see some catastrophic disaster wipe the N.R.A off the planet. Me, personally? I’d be happy if they just made sure that guns didn’t get into the hands of crazy people & criminals. But mostly crazy people. With all the opportunities law enforcement had to stop the latest school shooting from happening, I’d add that at the very least there should be something like the No Fly List—if you’re reported for wanting to become a mass murderer you should have to prove your mental competence (and lack of desire to kill people) before you can go out and buy a gun. Mostly, however, I’m disgusted with just how NORMAL these school shootings have become. It’s always sad, and terrible, and tragic, of course… but there seems to be a sense of inevitability hanging around it all now. And that can be laid squarely at the feet of all the politicians who say they’re not going to do something—or anything—because it’s not a solution they think would work, without offering any compromise or alternative. Government—any society, really—can’t work without compromise. Without people figuring out how they can live, work and prosper together. And we’re supposed to be able to do all of that here in America. The fact that we have to worry about kids being killed in schools while listening to our leaders say it’s so sad and they’ll pray for the fallen and their families… It’s wrong. So I hope the recent political movement keeps going. Some sort of change HAS to happen. Whether that’s gun registration or every school having fancy security systems that’ll attack an armed intruder I don’t personally care. I just don’t think any kid should ever worry about getting shot at school and I’m sick of our so-called-leaders saying there’s nothing they can do about it.  
> Okay, I’ve said my political piece there. It may come up again if this really does become a countrywide movement. I hope it does.  
> But for now, I hope everyone enjoyed the latest story. And that all of you stay safe and happy in each part of the world you live in…  
> Thank you.


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